


Tea and Cake

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Belly Kink, F/F, Feeding, Food, Stuffing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 00:44:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3916882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Overwhelmed by the demands of work, Josephine finds that she's a bit softer around the middle these days. But what she doesn't expect is just how much the Inquisitor loves it—and how eager the Inquisitor is to push her even further. Kinkmeme prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Kinkmeme prompt: "During the celebration at Skyhold, I noticed a line involving Josephine's fondness for little cakes. The pair soon indulge this fondness and Josephine finds herself gaining weight." Slightly rewritten from the original fill, which can be found here - http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/10859.html?thread=45640299#t45640299. This version focuses more on Josephine; it'll be two chapters, just little snapshots. As always, comments and kudos are appreciated <3

Herah Adaar knocked on the door to the ambassador's office once, then twice, and then let out a frustrated huff when there was no response. It had been hours since she'd last seen her lover—long, miserable hours—and she was more than ready to have Josephine back in her arms again, work be damned. When a third knock didn't earn her an answer, she at last let herself in without waiting any longer. Boring letters to fancy nobles could wait until another day.

“Josie? Still alive in here?”

Josephine looked up from her work briefly, managing a weary smile before she returned her attention to the papers in front of her. Even now, dark circles beneath her eyes and exhaustion written on every inch of her, she was strikingly, achingly beautiful; Adaar couldn't help the smile that spread across her lips at the sight of her. Josephine wrote as she spoke, hasty script unfolding across the page: “Darling, hello. I'm so sorry—I've been so busy today that I simply haven't been able to venture beyond my desk. I should have sent a message.”

“Not a problem, love.” Adaar tugged a chair over with her free hand and sat down in front of the desk, carefully balancing the tray she carried on a stack of books. Not a single inch of the desk was empty. “I thought you might be hungry after a long day of letter-writing. Take a break with me?”

After one more scribbled sentence, Josephine set aside her quill and looked up again. Her eyes widened with delight. The plate was full of the miniature cakes she loved so dearly, the specialty of the Orlesian chef that Vivienne had insisted upon hiring: Chocolate cakes coated with a raspberry icing, vanilla cakes topped with strawberries and a sprig of mint, pumpkin cakes covered with a thick, creamy frosting. Each was absurdly decadent despite its size, baked in a small cup, rich and delicious. If ever there was a reason to ignore her work, this was it. “Ah! You truly spoil me. I am a lucky woman.”

Adaar shrugged and bit back a fond smile. “It's no trouble, really. I just had the cook prepare a plate.”

Josephine reached for a cake and brought it to her lips with a slow reverence. Her eyes fluttered shut at the first blissful bite. “I hadn't eaten all day. Thank you.” She took another bite and smiled. “Please, help yourself. There's plenty here for both of us.”

“I'll let you eat your fill first. I'd rather just watch,” Adaar said, her voice slow and her expression thoughtful. Josephine was always so careful, so dainty, but some of that rigid control vanished when she was eating. Her walls crumbled, revealing that there was a bit of humanity underneath that relentless work ethic after all, and Adaar thought there was no lovelier sight in all the world. She loved to just sit and watch her eat, one eager bite after another. She'd brought her a plate of these cakes daily for a week now, and she never tired of seeing Josephine so satisfied. 

“If you insist.” Josephine's cheeks darkened with a blush, but she reached for a second cake and finished it in only a few hungry, distinctly unladylike bites. “Mm. Delicious. Thank you, darling.”

“Have another. You must be starving.”

Josephine bit her lip and she glanced from the plate back to Adaar, but she took a third cake nonetheless, hunger winning over etiquette. “My self-control simply flies out the window with these. I'm afraid my waistline may be starting to pay the price,” she said, voice bright with false flippancy. “Perhaps you should start bringing me vegetables instead.”

Adaar chuckled and shook her head; she selected a fourth cake and handed it over across the table, gently folding Josephine's fingers around the sticky cake. It was true that Josephine's figure wasn't quite what it had been before the past busy month—there was a new softness around her hips and a distinct curve to her belly, so often round and overstuffed as she tried to forget her stress in trays of sweets. Neither of them had said a word, but Adaar thought she looked beautiful. “I can't go ask the cook for vegetables. The other day she gave me a ferocious lecture about how I can't save the world without eating broccoli and I refuse to let her think she's won.”

“Still,” Josephine said between bites, “it is so difficult to maintain appearances when I'm buried under all this work, and I—well, to be perfectly honest, I have begun to worry that perhaps if I am not careful, you will...no longer find me as attractive as when we first met.” She attempted to sound casual, but her shaky voice belied her efforts. Yet despite her words, her eyes were still dark with hunger, and she reached for another cake as she finished the fourth, her fingers trembling as she avoided meeting Adaar's gaze. 

“What?” Adaar furrowed her brow in confused disbelief. She hadn't realized that she felt this way; the idea that Josephine could ever doubt her love sent a pang through her stomach. She stood and dragged her chair over to the other side of the desk, close enough to wrap her arms snug around Josephine. “Never worry about that. Never. You know I'll always think you're the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“You're sure of that?”

“Absolutely sure.” Adaar gently squeezed Josephine's hips, relishing in the expanded softness of the past week alone. Before, the change in Josephine's waistline had been gradual, though it had become rapid ever since Adaar had begun bringing by pastries in the morning and cakes in the afternoon. Josephine hadn't yet seemed to realize how calculated Adaar's actions were, but her expanding belly was proof enough—still slight, but perhaps not for long. “I think you're even more beautiful like this,” Adaar admitted, “all soft and tender. I like it.”

Josephine flinched at first, but slowly she relaxed, leaning back into Adaar's touch. “Do you truly?”

In one smooth motion, Adaar tugged Josephine into her lap with her gigantic, strong hands. Josephine's breath hitched as Adaar's lips grazed the back of her neck, and Adaar smiled, gently nipping at her earlobe. “Mm, absolutely. You're so gorgeous. I love the way you feel beneath me now when we're in bed. And I love the thought of you filling out those wide hips, of your dress tight over your stomach, your thighs big around my waist.”

She spoke slowly, reverently, her hands roaming Josephine's body and lingering over every curve; her speech faltered with aching arousal. At last, one hand dipped between Josephine's legs, winning a soft moan. Even through the fabric of her smallclothes, Adaar could feel a spreading wetness. “But I'm sorry,” she mumbled, lips against Josephine's neck. “I'm getting carried away. I don't mean to make you feel awkward about it.”

“No,” Josephine breathed. “It's...it's quite alright. What were you saying?”

“I—I was saying that I think you're beautiful.” Adaar cleared her throat, collecting herself. “Your curves. And the way you're getting softer every day—I love it.” She let out an involuntary groan, her imagination running away from her again.

“Ah. Well, then. I see,” Josephine said, sounding shy. Her legs parted almost imperceptibly, just enough for Adaar to push aside her dress and slip her hand beneath Josephine's smallclothes. “That certainly helps—oh!—certainly helps with the, ah, insecurity,” she gasped, voice tightening as Adaar rubbed slow circles against her. 

“I hoped it might,” Adaar whispered against her neck. She swallowed hard and then dared to continue. “Can you...eat more? For me? You're not uncomfortable with this?”

Josephine answered the stream of questions with one breathy _yes_ , tilting her head to bare her neck to Adaar's insistent kisses, and Adaar smiled at the affirmation. She reached out to take a sixth cake and held it up to Josephine's lips. “Good. Eat up,” she said, a note of teasing mingling with one of insistence. 

Josephine obeyed without question, taking one bite and then another until the cake was gone. She eagerly licked and sucked the last traces of frosting off Adaar's fingers. Adaar grunted softly, pushing her fingers into Josephine's mouth in the same moment that she pressed one finger of her other hand into her; Josephine rocked and moaned in her lap, clenching around Adaar's massive, thick finger.

“You're such a good girl,” Adaar murmured, lips soft on the back of her neck. She was wildly carried away now, head spinning with arousal, words that she would usually never say spilling off her tongue in a mad rush—her deepest dreams unfolding before her eyes. She kept her fingers working between Josephine's legs, every stoke an attempt to convince her to keep going, to keep eating. “Are you full yet? Can you eat another for me?”

“I think I can,” Josephine gasped, chest heaving with the effort of trying to maintain her composure. When Adaar pressed a seventh cake against her mouth, her lips opened wordlessly, and she allowed Adaar to push the cake inside, forcing her to eat it faster than before.

“Yesterday you ate half by the time I left. You've already bested that. How many can you eat today?”

“The whole tray. Another, please,” Josephine begged. She rocked back and forth on Adaar's finger, little gasps escaping her with every shift; her head was thrown back, dark curls tumbling over Adaar's shoulder, the elegant lines of her neck sharp and strained.

“Can you?” Adaar laughed, surprised and delighted by how willing Josephine was. The entire dozen would be no easy feat, but it would be incredible just to watch her try. “Eager to please today?”

“Always.”

Adaar withdrew her hand from between Josephine's legs, ignoring her frustrated cry of want. Instead she settled her hand over Josephine's stomach, marveling at the swelling curve that drew the fabric tight. Seven cakes and still eager, long past the point of hunger—just desperate to prove herself, whatever it took. The thought sent a rush through Adaar, heat pooling between her legs. “Another, then,” she declared, and Josephine obediently ate the eighth cake out of her hand, licking off each crumb. 

“Keep going,” Josephine pleaded. “Before I think to change my mind.” She ground herself against Adaar's thigh as an empty replacement for her hand, soft sweet sounds escaping her lips, heightening Adaar's growing lust.

She struggled with the ninth cake, barely able to take more than small bites. But Adaar gently rubbed her stomach and whispered soft reassurances in her ear until the cake was gone, and after that, Josephine finished the tenth cake without any hesitation—big, reckless bites that smeared icing across her lips and chin and left both of them moaning.

Josephine clutched her legs around Adaar's thigh, desperate for any friction; Adaar bucked, rubbing hard against her, and when Josephine's mouth fell open in a gasp, Adaar pushed another cake past her lips. “You're so good,” she whispered, stroking Josephine's bloated belly. “To do this for me—you're such a good girl.”

Josephine moaned and took another bite. But when she leaned forward, the simple motion was accompanied by the sharp ripping of fabric. Josephine's belly, swollen with gluttony, peeked past a sudden small tear in her elegant gold silks. She ground to a sudden halt, her eyes wide with shame and horror—but Adaar squeezed her tight and pressed the cake back to her lips as a silencing distraction. “You're so beautiful,” she whispered, “so, so gorgeous, tearing through your clothes. Don't be ashamed.”

As Josephine finished the cake, the rip continued to widen with every bite, exposing smooth, dark skin, but this time she did not pause. “One more,” she whispered.

Adaar fed Josephine the last cake slowly, forcing her to cherish each bite just as Adaar cherished each soft snap of ripping stitches. Josephine's belly was tender and distended, long past stuffed to the brim, and Adaar squeezed and stroked her constantly, delighting in the unfamiliar curve. Josephine had never been as beautiful to her as she was now—belly hugely swollen, tearing through her clothing, a tray of cakes meant to serve a whole crowd empty in front of her, still taking eager bites out of Adaar's hand. 

And then at last, the plate was empty. Josephine sucked the last drops of icing off Adaar's fingers and sagged back into her lover's lap, letting out a sigh that was somewhere between satisfied and pained. Her torn silks slipped to the sides, baring the entire obscenely rounded mass of her belly.

“You did it,” Adaar breathed, awed. Another jolt of arousal flooded her—if Josephine could finish this plate of cakes, how much more could she eat? She pictured herself feeding Josephine more and more without ever stopping, watching her dress tear until it fell off completely, watching her belly bloat like this at each meal so that she grew larger and larger with each passing day, and she bit back a moan of desire at the thought. “You're amazing.”

Josephine hiccuped and hesitantly placed a hand over the unfamiliar expanse of her stomach; Adaar covered it with her own far larger hand. “I did, didn't I? I was not quite sure that I could, and yet—” She let out a rueful laugh, her rush of wild desire fading into practicality. “There goes my figure, I suppose.”

“You look beautiful,” Adaar insisted, “and you'll look beautiful months from now, even once you're so much heavier. You'll be so big and gorgeous. I can't wait.”

Josephine tensed. “This is...to be a regular occurrence, then?”

“Only if you're willing,” Adaar amended hastily. “But if you are, then yes. I've been thinking about this, and I truly do want it.”

“Thinking about what?”

Adaar hesitated, but she couldn't keep the words from pouring forth. “It's just that you're so beautiful like this. So soft and lovely. And I want to...to keep feeding you until you're—until you're even bigger. Little cakes and sweets and everything rich and indulgent, every day, over and over again. Just one day won't last long. But if we did it regularly...” She trailed off, suddenly embarrassed by her desires. 

Josephine twisted to face Adaar. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.” Josephine smiled, bashful and fond, and trailed one finger down the hard line of Adaar's jaw. “I feel so relieved these days, not having to worry about maintaining appearances as I would in court. And if I wish to indulge, why should I not? I enjoy the way I feel. My only fear was that you would not.”

A wide, delighted grin tore across Adaar's face; she let out a joyous laugh and tightened her arms around Josephine, drawing her close. “Of course I do! Of course, a thousand times over.”

Josephine's smile was smaller, more tempered, but she planted a gentle kiss to Adaar's cheek. “Well, then, we're decided. Now, I must get back to work, bellyache and all, but I shall see you tonight.” She raised one eyebrow, tightening her legs around Adaar's thigh. “Perhaps then you can finish what you started, hm?”

“Mm,” Adaar agreed, claiming Josephine's lips in a farewell kiss. “Tonight. I'll bring the food if you bring the wine.”


	2. Chapter 2

Only a few short months later, it felt like all of Herah Adaar's wildest dreams were coming true. She stepped into the room they shared one morning and paused in the doorway—back from an early morning of sparring with anyone who dared to challenge her—to watch as Josephine dressed, gaze adoringly trailing over every inch of her. And there was quite a bit more of her than there had been before. She was already larger than Adaar had hoped, larger than she'd imagined Josephine would allow. But she had proved to be even more willing than Adaar had expected, and the results of her eager participation had quickly begun to show on her slim frame. Her thighs were gloriously thick, her hips were lush and soft, and her once-slender figure was dominated by her round, growing belly. Already she had begun to move differently, slower, hampered by her unfamiliar new size; Adaar delighted in the sight of her pausing to catch her breath, one hand on her stomach.

Adaar had put on a few pounds herself, the inevitable side effect of surrounding herself with sweets (combined with poor self-control), but the weight clung to her differently, subtly spread out over her significantly taller and broader figure. Perhaps there was a bit more give to her where before there had only been hard muscle, and perhaps she should spend a bit more time training and a bit less time in bed with Josephine, but at least her old tunics still fit her. Josephine wasn't so lucky. The tailor they visited in Val Royeaux had tried her hardest to adjust Josephine's dresses, but they all still strained to contain her, looking ready to pop at any moment. Josephine insisted that she didn't need new clothing—that as long as her old silks still fit, they would know that they hadn't gone too far. Still, as she watched Josephine huff and gasp as she tried to jerk her dress over her hips, Adaar had a feeling that they'd be back at the tailor's shop soon.

“Hello, love,” Adaar called at last, breaking the silence.

Josephine turned to greet her, a surprised smile breaking across her face. Dark curls tumbled over her eyes, disheveled from her efforts with the dress, and Josephine pushed them back with one hand, holding up her silks with the other. “You're back. I thought you'd be out all morning.”

“I thought you might be hungry,” Adaar said, setting the tray she carried—piled high with cakes and treats, rich and sweet, more than enough to accommodate Josephine's growing appetite—down on the bedside table. “Let's have breakfast before you return to your work.”

“That doesn't look like breakfast,” Josephine observed, eyeing the desserts. Adaar had a distinct sweet tooth, no matter the time of day. Still, Josephine had never once complained, and today was no different. “It does look delicious, however. You think of everything. Thank you for the lovely excuse to delay work for a little longer.”

“Anything for you,” Adaar teased. She bent down low to kiss the top of Josephine's head, taking a moment to breathe in the sweet scent of her, and let her hands slide down to rest on Josephine's waist.

“Would you be a dear and fasten this for me? And then we can begin.”

Adaar bit her tongue and obediently began to tug on the dress; she sent up a quick silent prayer, half-certain that only divine intervention could get the dress over Josephine's substantial hips. At last, with one final yank, the dress was on, and Adaar could tie the stretched laces. “There. Perfect.”

“It's a bit tight,” Josephine observed with a faint sigh, and Adaar couldn't help but laugh.

“A bit? Come on, then, to bed.” She could still lift Josephine easily, still dwarfed her, and so she picked her up and gently set her on the bed before sliding in beside her. The bed creaked at the added weight and Adaar laughed again. “My sweet little human, you're not so little anymore, are you?”

“Oh, do be quiet already and get me something to eat.”

The two women settled in across from each other, cross-legged in the tangle of sheets they had mussed earlier that morning. Adaar lifted the first pastry from the pile on the tray. “Ready?”

There was something about the first moment of anticipation that sent sparks down Adaar's spine—the thought that she was about to watch Josephine push herself further than before, the knowledge that soon Josephine's soft stomach would be taut and swollen with the proof of her devotion. Adaar had always been like this, driven entirely by the external, committed to the physical, whereas Josephine had admitted that her thrill was entirely mental—the rush of obedience, of placing control in her lover's hands. That admission alone had been enough to amplify the thrill even further for Adaar, and she thought of it now, pressing the tart to Josephine's parted lips.

And so, as she always did, Josephine obeyed, letting Adaar feed her one bite at a time. The tart was sweet and rich, enough to leave her craving more, and she was glad when Adaar pressed a second pastry to her mouth without hesitation. 

“We won't stop until you've eaten all you can hold,” Adaar murmured. “How much do you think you can manage? Half the tray? More? We can keep going all morning long. Bite after bite until you're too heavy and swollen to move, still begging me for more.”  


Josephine let out an involuntary moan at the barrage of Adaar's words, raw with desire. She had never been able to manage half the tray, not even close, no matter how Adaar prompted her with this sort of talk. It was too much—practically enough to feed half the Inquisition. But today she was ready to try, and she devoured the puff pastry in only a few ravenous bites.  


Adaar offered her a third sweet, one that oozed rich chocolate when she bit into it. “You're so good,” Adaar murmured, gently pushing back a loose strand of Josephine's hair. Her immense hand almost enveloped Josephine's face as she stroked her cheek. “Look at you, doing this for me. Come on, another.”  


The fourth went down swiftly, and it wasn't much longer before Josephine managed to make a considerable dent in the tray. It was easier when she went quickly like this—she didn't have time to feel full, and her stomach bloated faster, as huge and round as if she were with child. Already, her dress was painfully tight, taut across the swell of her belly, and her bites were more labored than before, but she pressed on at Adaar's gentle urging. She had lost count several pastries ago.  


“Don't hesitate,” she insisted when Adaar seemed to pause. “I can keep going.”  


Adaar looked surprised, but she acquiesced and offered her another small, dangerously-rich cake—deep dark chocolate slathered in rich buttercream. Josephine finished it and drew Adaar's fingers into her mouth, eagerly sucking off the icing; they both let out faint, almost simultaneous moans when Adaar's hand settled on her growing belly, rubbing the sensitive flesh.   


Adaar moved on to the cream puffs, one of Josephine's favorites. No more than two bites apiece, but rich and dense, dipped in chocolate and dusted with powdered sugar, they seemed to go straight to her waist. She swallowed the first, then a second, and then a third, letting out a heavy moan. The cream spilled past her lips when she bit into one too eagerly, running thick and white down her chin, but she was too hungry and desperate to pause and wipe it away. Her dress was unbearably, agonizingly tight. A fourth—a fifth—   


And then there was a loud tear as her dress split down the middle, gold silk falling away to reveal her huge belly. This was no small rip—this was a giant gash. She gasped and reached for the loose fabric to cover herself up, but the strain of her motion caused her dress to rip again, even louder this time. “Oh, Maker,” she moaned, mortification clear on her face, “this was the last dress that fit. How am I to so much as leave the room?”  


Adaar chuckled, eyes sparkling with lust. “I guess you won't be able to make it to your office today. You'll be stuck here with me, with nothing to do but let me feed you. We can ring for the kitchen, have them bring us a true feast...but first you have to show me how many of these you can eat. Come on, don't get distracted.”  


When Josephine took another bite, her dress ripped further, nearly falling apart completely. Her gut was completely bare now, protruding past the rags of her silks, bloated beyond belief. Her cheeks went dark with shame. “Please, darling—may I borrow one of your tunics?”

“Later, perhaps,” Adaar said. She rubbed Josephine's bare stomach, gentle and soothing. “You're so beautiful like this, too big for your dress. Too big for every dress you own, all of them torn and ruined. You're getting so huge. Fatter and fatter every day. And you're done it all for me. You're so, so good.”  


Josephine let out a soft hiccup. She closed her eyes and focused on Adaar's cool, comforting touch, not the heavy ache of her belly. “And this is still what you want? Even once I'm well and truly fat?”  


“Maker, yes,” Adaar breathed. “I want to ravish you every time I look at you. You've never been so attractive, so soft and gorgeous. You're perfect.”  


“Perfect,” Josephine repeated carefully, testing the word.   


“You're perfect now and you'll be even more perfect when you're—” Adaar's breath hitched, arousal spreading hot and wet between her legs at the mere image. “When you're twice as big, or even bigger, absolutely massive.” She shivered as she spoke the last word; throughout it all, she watched Josephine with wide, reverent eyes.

“You expect quite a bit from me,” Josephine murmured. She exhaled softly, tracing her fingers over Adaar's chest. “Still, I find myself more compelled by that idea than I once was.”  


Adaar pressed a hungry kiss to Josephine's neck and rubbed her thigh with one hand, watching the way that Josephine flinched when her fingers grazed against her just right. “Another bite, love?” she mumbled, lips still bruisingly eager along her collarbone. “Or shall we take a break?”  


“Your tunic first,” Josephine insisted. Adaar knew better than to argue. She gave in, slipping out of bed to lumber across the room, and returned with a spare tunic in hand. Josephine carefully removed the ruined scraps of her dress, tossing them to the floor, and pulled the tunic over her head. The tunic was gigantic, tailored for a Qunari—and not just any Qunari but Herah Adaar, already an unusually tall and broad woman. Yet even this tunic went tight across Josephine's belly when she leaned forward to devour another creampuff.   


“Maker, look at you,” Adaar groaned. She rubbed Josephine's belly, kneading the soft flesh of her hips and stroking the taut swell of her gut, and pressed one more pastry to her lips, all but forcing her to swallow it at once. “Almost too wide for my tunic already. Let's see if you can fill it out all the way by the time you're done. Maybe you can even tear it too. Do you think you'll manage half the tray?”

“More,” Josephine breathed. The task sounded impossible, but the idea of Adaar's pleasure and pride was too overwhelming, too arousing, to resist.  


Already, Adaar was smiling in a way that still made Josephine's heart flutter, even after all this time together; her eyes were dark and hungry, but a tenderness still shone bright. “You'd better eat up, then. No time to waste. Let's fill that tunic with your big gorgeous belly.”  


Josephine moaned and swallowed the next bite Adaar gave her. Soon she had finished the very last of the creampuffs, leaving her to lick up all the rich cream that clung to her lips, and the tray was nearing halfway empty.

Adaar fed her with one hand, forcing the food into her mouth at a breakneck pace, and almost involuntarily, her other hand slipped between her own legs. She clumsily stroked herself over her damp smallclothes, gasping softly at the intensity of the sensation. Just the sight of Josephine, belly huge and food smeared on her lips, was enough to leave her every nerve screaming for fulfillment. She took a deep breath and forced her smallclothes aside, pushing one finger inside of herself; a gasp flew past her lips that shook her whole body. Josephine whined around the pastry in her mouth and grabbed at Adaar's wrist, clearly jealous—her stomach bulged too far now for her to touch herself, and the weight of her belly pressing down on her only left her more desperate—but her hands were too small to close around Adaar's wrist, much less move her.

“Please,” Josephine begged, “please,” but Adaar silenced her with an eclair, pressing it further and further into her mouth in sync with the thrusts of her own finger. Adaar's heavy grunts and Josephine's moans rose to fill the room, both of them utterly caught up in the moment—Josephine's slack jaw, the cream on her lips, the way her growing belly filled the space between them.  


“Eat up,” Adaar gasped at last, pulling back enough to let her bite into the treat. The cream spurted out of the eclair, obscenely trickling down the corner of Josephine's mouth. With every bite, the treat oozed more, covering her lips in white, dripping cream. Adaar cleaned her with desperate, hungry kisses. She spoke haltingly, struggling to form words with the white-hot coil of pleasure in her belly: “Are you sure you can handle more? This is much further than you've ever gone before. We can stop whenever you want.”  


Josephine hesitated—but only for a moment. “I'm sure. More, please.”  


Josephine sunk back into the pillows, almost too exhausted to fully sit up; with every shift, the bed creaked beneath her, and Adaar's giant tunic was almost as uncomfortable as her dress had been. Her stomach was growing so quickly, with every bite pushing her closer and closer to what Adaar wanted—the thought gave her goosebumps. The idea of obediently filling her lover's tunic all the way pushed her forward, and she eagerly devoured every bite that Adaar offered her despite her discomfort.   


“Look at you,” Adaar breathed, sounding awed. Her voice cracked, words coming out in a rush as she rocked back and forth on her own finger. “You're incredible. Look how much you've already eaten. Think how huge you would be if you could eat this much every day. Think how quickly you would gain. You'd be so, so fat and beautiful.”

Josephine drew a heavy, laborious breath. “I'm not done yet.”

Adaar's tunic was tight as a corset now, drawn taut across her huge belly. Already, gaps of skin peeked out where the buttons struggled to hold the fabric together. But she pressed on, unwilling to give up before she absolutely had to. When Adaar let out a sharp cry of pleasure, Josephine grabbed at her wrist again, this time successfully jerking her hand forward. “Touch me,” she pleaded, “touch me, touch me.” This time, it was Adaar's turn to obey, and Josephine felt tears of pleasure prick at her eyes as Adaar forced her way inside of her.  


The tray was nearing empty at a stupefyingly fast rate. Every bite was a fight now, accomplished only with Adaar's cool hand on her belly and the other hand inside of her, pumping steadily, lighting up her world with spark after spark. “You can stop whenever you want,” Adaar repeated over and over again. But Josephine had never wanted anything less. She was so close.  


When she took one more bite, the first button flew off the tunic. She paused, wide-eyed—but Adaar distracted her and gently fed her another bite. That was all it took. In one sudden flurry, every button popped, one after another. The tunic fell off of her completely, leaving Josephine almost completely bare. Adaar let out a long, worshipful moan. Both her hands went straight to Josephine's distended stomach, leaving her empty but washing her in another form of pleasure, caressing the massive swell of her gut.   


“Herah, darling,” Josephine said softly, pulling Adaar's attention away from her bare belly. “I'm not done yet. Ring down to the kitchens—we're going to need another tray.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, there's not really a satisfactory ending, but I'm not sure the audience for this particular sort of thing is all that large. Femslash and an obscure kink? The world might implode. ;) Still, let me know if you might want to see another little vignette or two and I might get around to it eventually!


End file.
